


Scarred

by writershapeholeonthedoor



Category: The Devil Wears Prada (2006)
Genre: Assistant, Crack, Cute, Dancing, Domestic Fluff, Dorks in Love, F/F, Fluff, Fluff and Crack, Fluff and Humor, Fun, Funny, Gen, Love, Love Confessions, Married Couple, References to ABBA, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Scarred
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-18
Updated: 2019-08-18
Packaged: 2020-09-06 13:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,359
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20292568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writershapeholeonthedoor/pseuds/writershapeholeonthedoor
Summary: Emily will never be able to erase that image from her head.





	Scarred

**Author's Note:**

> I'm still new at the TDWP writing universe, so let me know if I fucked up at some point.  
Also, English is not my first language, so please let me know if there's something wrong!  
Follow me on Tumblr, @imagineheadcanonsarea

Emily loved her job. No, really, she did. It wasn't just a mantra she used when things got too much, she honestly adored working at Runway and with - to - Miranda. Yeah, the woman could always find a way to make things ten thousand times worst and Emily was always tiptoeing around her when she wasn't running to do the things Miranda demanded. But she wouldn't change her life - unless a promotion was in order.

She took pleasure in doing even the small tasks, that's why she didn't cared that much when Miranda announced that Andrea wouldn't be the one delivering her laundry and The Book every night anymore. At first, Emily thought the umpredictable second assistant had found a way to screw things up, but she wasn't fired right away. And it would make no sense, especially when Andrea started to leave Elias-Clark with Miranda. Literally with her. The first time it happened, Emily thought she was alucinating after spending a whole day without eating, but it became a common occurance.  
Miranda would leave her office, Andrea would be ready to help her put her coat on and to give the editor's purse, then she would grab her own things and they would walk - TOGETHER - to the elevator to leave. Just to be sure, Emily started to eat some crackers during the day.

It wasn't that shocking after she thought about it, but it wasn't like they could talk about. It was an unspoken agreement that their relationship wasn't open to discussion. Not at the office, at least, and Emily didn't exactly had time to ask the girl for some drinks. To be honest, though, Emily wasn't sure she wanted to know anything. It was better not to know anything. Way better. She had overheard some guys from I.T talking at the water dispenser one day while running to grab the tissues samples Miranda requested, they were saying something about how the editor in chief needed to ‘get it’ to stop being such a bitch. It happened only two days after she realized her boss and her co-worker were involved in some kind of out of office relationship and that comment had printed a picture in her head that made her lose sleep for more nights that she would like to admit.

So yes, not talking about it was the best option for everyone wrapped in that mess. That’s exactly why Emily didn’t questioned or even glared at Andy when Miranda announced she was going to be responsible for delivering the Book again every night. And, again, she kinda of enjoyed the feeling of being useful. It had absolutely nothing to do with the fact that she was using her late hours as an excuse to avoid someone. Beside, Roy would drive her to the townhouse almost every night, and then would drop her in her apartment before taking the car back, so it wasn’t like she had to suffer with cabs or, God forbid, the Subway like Andrea did.

Serena was asking her out for drinks for nearly five months now. It wasn’t like Emily didn’t want to go – she did – but it was more like she didn’t want to dip her pen in the company’s ink. That’s what she told herself out loud in front of the mirror everyday, as a mantra, before decline the woman’s request one more time. In the back of her mind, the fear of entering a relationship was painting pictures of bad break ups and broken hearts, and that was the last thing she needed at the moment, especially if she wanted to do a good – no, a bloody great – work.

And, since Miranda reestablish her as the oficial Book deliverer, she could use that as an excuse, because, even with Roy lift, Emily was lucky to get home before midnight most of the days. Considering she had to wake up at five in the morning to get ready for work and actually get to work before Miranda did, she really shouldn’t indulge herself with small breaks. Even if it was with a hot girl, a very hot woman, a very hot brazilian woman.

Emily groaned to herself while struggling with the keys in her pockets while balancing the Book and the dry cleanning in one hand. She had build up the hability through the years, so the British woman was able to open the door with ease, without dropping anything and doing very little noise. Emily was proud to think of herself as some sort of ninja, because she was able to get inside and out of the house without being noticed in like 99% of the time – something Andrea wasn’t able to do since day one, if she remembered right.

The redhead opened the closet door beside the front door and promptly hanged the coats she was holding, arranging the other items inside before shutting it. She, then, walked to the table with the flowers and placed the book in the surface almost with adoration. And then her job was done and she could go home. Emily turned in her high heels and lifted her right foot to give the first step when she heard something that made her blood go cold.

She hadn’t heard it before, mostly because she was always on a mission to get inside and out as fast as she could as silently as she could, but there was a radio on somewhere playing some music she barely recognized. And there was another noise, a squeak almost. Several noises, actually, but there was one she never heard before and that was the one who made her stop. Something was wrong. Something was really really really wrong.

Emily turned around again, walking as fast as she could in those heels, until she reached the kitchen’s door. She hesitated for a second, before leaning her upper body to look through the door frame and, for the second time, her veins started to feel like a ice cube was running inside of it. Yes, that was wrong.

She could see two redheads – a lighter red than hers, a natural beautiful shade she had to admit – sitting in the kitchen stools by the big counter in the middle. They had their hands in their mouths and their bodies were shaking with laugher, and honestly they looked like a mirror. Emily could also spot black hair – not brown or chocolate – and a hideous shamrock sweater that completly didn’t match the plaid pair of pants – it was boysenberry! When she started to think Andrea was finally understanding fashion...

But even if that look was enough to gain her reaction, it wasn’t just that. Andrea had her arms around someone and was spinning that person around in a weird uncoordinated dance. So she can’t dress properly, she can’t loose weight and she can’t dance... Perfect.

Emily’s eyes almost fell from her face when she saw a silver hair stylised in the same remarkable way everybody knew. The woman was using what could be a event garb, black pants and a gorgeous blouse that Emily knew was from the new Armani collection, that wasn’t even in the stores yet, and she even had black Louboutin heels. Since Andrea was barefoot – honestly, bloody hell – Miranda was a few inches taller than her, but she was allowing the younger woman to lead... the weird and uncoordinated dance. Awkward. Terrible. Shameful. Emily could think about a dozen synonyms.

When Andrea turned her body in a way she could drop Miranda back, holding her firmly with one arm around her waist while the other one held her hand, Emily saw something that would scar her for life. Miranda laughed. Not the fake laughs everyone saw her giving to people around her. No. It was a laugh that came from her diaphragm, from deep inside her, from her soul. And her smile was honest and, there was no other way to describe it, happy. It lighted her face and brought a youth to her that was almost contradictory with the wrinkles around her eyes that that same smile caused.

And Emily was scarred for life. She would never be able to erase that image from her head. Of Miranda Priestly smiling, laughing, dancing in her kitchen. So different from the Ice Queen, the Dragon Lady, the cold persona she was while walking around barking orders all day. If it wasn’t the fact that her smile could not change her hair, Emily would question if that was the same woman at all. And she would never, ever, be able to forget it.

She mourned the sleepless nights that was, for sure, coming ahead, until she was able to finally let it go. God, she was so going to have nightmares about it too. With a internal moan, Emily contemplated that it would have been better to catch them having sex. Yes, for sure, it would have been way better if she had walked inside and saw Andrea and Miranda fucking somewhere than see _this_, because she could deal with sex, she could totally not deal with _that_.

Emily must have made a sound, or it was Andy lifting Miranda that caused it, but the editor’s eyes finally spoted her first assistant and all happiness drained from her face. The twins instantly copy her mother, dropping their smiles to stare at her too. Andrea was the only who appeared not to be affected by that. She only turned around to see what caused all the fuss and then smiled at Emily like they were old friends – the British woman realized in horror that it was probably true.

“Hey, Em!” The brunette approached her with the happiest grin and a wave. “Long time no see!”

And then, without saying a word, Emily turned around and left. No, she could not deal with that. She could not deal with Miranda Priestly's honest laugh and real smile. She could not deal with seeing Andrea Sachs and Miranda Priestly being all domestic. She could not deal with Miranda bloody Priestly dancing to ABBA – bloody hell, she wanted to pull her hairs out, because it was FUCKING ABBA – in the middle of her kitchen. Emily was going to slide her resignation tomorrow morning in the editor’s desk. She was hardly still sane after working for Miranda for so long and she really needed to keep what was left of her healthy mind.

But first... Emily dialed a number as soon as she sat at the backseat of Miranda’s expensive Mercedes. She didn’t even looked up to awknowledge Roy’s nod.

“Hi, Serena. Are you busy tomorrow night?”

* * *

Unlike she had expected, Emily was able to sleep like a baby when she got home. She took a long shower, fell in bed, closed her eyes and was gone before she could count to three. And her night wasn’t filled with nightmares like she thought it would, instead, her mind kept playing a clear image of a beauty in a tiny bikini running at some beach while drinking coconut water. So when she woke up at five in the morning, Emily wasn’t feeling like shit anymore.

And she decided not to submit any resignation that day. Miranda was probably going to fire her anyway, since she broke the rule of not entering the house, but Emily was not going to quit. It was fine. She was still scarred, but she would survive.

When she received Roy’s text saying that Miranda had just got out of the car, Emily didn’t freaked out like everyday. Miranda’s burning hot coffee was already waiting at the editor’s desk, she already had the news ready and most of the e-mails received during the night were answered without needing to ask Miranda for anything. So maybe she was getting fired, but she was having a hell of a good morning until then.

Miranda was using a champagne pencil skirt, Dior cocktail top and Gucci shoes matching her purse, that was promptly dropped in her desk along with her furr black coat. Emily rose to her feet to grab it and hang both items, but the editor had stoped walking to look at her up and down. She was still going to hang those expensive itens even if she got fired.

After what appeared to be five thousand years, Miranda clicked her tongue, clearly unhappy with something. “Andrea wanted to invite you over for dinner tomorrow night.”

Andrea might know Miranda better than anyone else. She might know what her real laugh sounded like, how her real smiles made her face wrinkle, how her blue eyes could go soft instead of icy, how to make her relax enough to dance to Mamma Mia in the middle of her kitchen, how the woman looked when she woke up and, probably, how to make Miranda happy.

But Emily had worked for Miranda for three years and she was proud to say she had learned to read the older woman through her time there. Not as good as Andrea, for sure – again, ABBA – but good enough to make her survive for that long. So she knew for sure what her answer was going to be.

“I already have plans for tomorrow.” A pause while she collected the coat and purse. “And every night after that.”

Miranda glanced her from head to toe again, slowly that time, like she was measuring her, until she locked piercing blue eyes with hers again. “Very well, I’m going to let her know.” And then she smiled. Not as near honest as the smile Emily had witnessed last night – thankfully, because she could not deal with _that_ – but enough to let Emily know that she made the right choice. “Why is my coat still in your hands?” Miranda was back to her persona before the redhead could blink.

Emily promptly hanged the fashionable items while the editor walked inside her office to start her day. Andy would be there soon, as well as the last staff members, and Emily would have to face her again after seeing that sinful image that burned her brain. But, at least, Serena would be there soon too.


End file.
